Running Wild
by Nyanko-sensei Yu
Summary: " Hold yourself responsible for a higher standard than anybody else expects of you. Never excuse yourself. Never pity yourself. Be a hard master to yourself-and be lenient to everybody else." ― Henry Ward Beecher Reincarnation fic.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first reincarnation SI insert, so I hope all you will enjoy.

I believe I will update this fairly regularly, which may be longer in some peoples terms.

But anyways, enjoy!

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A figure rushed briskly down the cobble stone of the streets, her long dirty brown hair trailing behind her in its woven braid. Her sharp moss green eyes watching around her cautiously, coldly shifting to stare down at the bundle in her arms. _Disgusting_, she sneered at the pudgy face ignorantly sleeping, unaware of all the trouble she was putting her through. She pulled her jacket from her side to hide the monstrosity that was her daughter.

_Daughter_.

The little bundle of worthless flesh in her arms was the living symbolization of the man who had raped her, staring down at the face she had seen in her nightmares, she felt as if he was mocking her. The baby doesn't open its eyes very often, but its sharp moss green matched her own. As if the baby knew she hated it, it kept its eyes closed and only screamed when it needed an essential to be taken care off. This thing had no right to be called her daughter, she had planned to abort it, but the baby's father's flames had interrupted and shielded the baby in her womb.

She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to throw the baby now and never return, but she wasn't that corrupted and she didn't want to steal a baby's life just because of its bastard father. She had _some_ morals, after all. She had cared for the baby for the past year off what she had managed to salvage from her destroyed famiglia, but now it taking its toll and the baby was only an unwanted burden.

The woman eyed the large orphanage she stopped in front of, staring at the sign 'Love for the Forgotten Child's Orphanage.' Scoffing, the women held the bundle in front of her, knowing the child was awake and set her in front of the orphanage steps. _How cliché_, she thought to herself and rang the doorbell.

Turning around, she walked away with no regrets.

Green eyes opened to the world, confused and wet with tears. With unnatural awareness, the baby did not scream, but rather clutched onto her dull brown blanket and whimpered. After all, even for a fifteen year old reincarnated, being abandoned by another parent was heartbreaking.

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**_I want to adopt a kid when I'm able too, I feel sad just writing this._**

**_Either way, leave a review!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Yeah, this is very late. I'm thinking of making chapters for this story short, but with a LOT of chapters. Like drabbles sort of. This way, I hope to write a chapter at LEAST once a week. Which is really unusual for me on my other account, so this is a bit special. Either way, enjoy and tell me what you think._**

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She always had the short stick in life. The bad luck, the misfortune, followed her like bees to flowers. Its only cruel irony how her biological parents are out of the picture again in this new life. Apparently the bad luck is attached to my soul, rather than her physical body. Joy.

The memories come relatively clearly. At a mere eight years old in an unfamiliar city on a trip with her two workaholic parents. Them making her promise to wait there in the park until their meeting was over. Only to notice after several hours and the darkening sky that they weren't coming back.

How, even in this life, her new mother kept her in a separate room for the first year. Isolated except for those scheduled feedings and diaper changing. Not a sound spoken to her, not even acknowledging her hungry cries.

She was tired. Tired of all the disappointment and bad luck.

No, she didn't commit suicide. Personally, it was an easy way out of life – something that made her feel affronted about even if it was just a passing thought. How she died isn't that important anymore. In the end, she still died. She wasn't even all that upset about it though, death was death. Nothing new or frightening, since it came for everyone.

Still, she closed herself away from the world. She had too many people die, she indirectly caused some of it, or her bad luck screwed them over. She gave up being with people. In a way, her introversion was happy that she isolated herself and she was happy to get away from all the nativity and stupidity of humans.

She didn't want another chance at life, but there was nothing she could do about it and she wasn't going to take the easy way out. She adapted, like she has for every situation in life, and continued on without another thought about the past. No matter what the world threw at her, she'd grit her teeth and keep going only if to spite it.

Either way, she decided that she would strive to make this life at least somewhat more worth it than the last.

The orphanage – in Russia, she concluded after hearing the caretakers speak rapidly in Russian – was absolutely stuffed with children. It was constantly cold in the orphanage and even a few children died because of it and the shortage of food. The caretakers were much too busy dealing with the loud children and the handicapped to pay attention to the few quiet ones.

That was fine for her. She endured the cold, piercing loud crying, the drools of babies sharing her crib, and the uncomfortable diapers. Her apathy helped in this regard, her emotions drained and she hardly paid attention to others anymore. As months passed, her mind became still and calm and the voices of people and children were muted. She didn't acknowledge them anymore, not when the other babies screamed for her attention or the caretakers nudged her. She just didn't care anymore.

It took them a year to finally give her anew name; Varushka.

The foreign, the strange.

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**_Her mother was Russian, but her father isn't, so she has some obviously foreign traits. It doesn't help that Varushka is making her personal bubble. Varushka is really just tired of everything – she keeps loosing those whom she loved and now lost everything she had worked for in the old life. Right now she is just really tired of life, but she will get better. Definitely not going to be a doll-like person! Don't worry XD_**

**_Leave a review if you enjoyed!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Learning Russian was a slow process. A downside to being mostly ignored in the orphanage, really. The orphanage was in a pretty bad shape. The babies, like her at the moment, were lining the room in rusty cribs and were garbed in cheap cotton clothes. They finally upgraded the heating system recently, so she wasn't in danger of freezing to death.

The months passed in dreadful boredom, sleep, and drool. Lots of drool. The babies, four including her in the crib, all seemed to believe that Varushka was their personal body heater. So, it was mostly luck that she didn't end up dying again, this time from suffocation of too many bodies and drool. But other than that, it was very quiet.

Personally, it was a very miserable silence. The babies' cries would be ignored, as the caretakers did everything by schedule and were busy otherwise. So quickly, one by one, the babies learned that their screams wouldn't get any attention. Varushka may not be the most sympathetic person, but this was just horrifyingly sad. So, before she could even speak Russian coherently or even her mother language English because of her undeveloped vocal cords, she sung to them in gibberish.

It was like they were enraptured. The ones that could see her were engrossed, those who couldn't would mimic her babblings. Varushka remembered reading Before about how affection and social interaction was essential for child development and without it would only make them suffer.

So she sang until her throat was raw or she fell asleep, beginning again whenever one of the babies started to drift off mentally or stare emptily at their hands. It was startling how fixated the children were whenever she sang, absorbing everything she had to give like they were starving.

It was only a year later, when she was singing in English, when she realized she had inadvertently taught them part of a language that a baby should never be able to learn from a Russian orphanage when they would repeat the word for song or music to her. Now that she was three and relatively stable on her pudgy feet, Varushka took to escaping her crib to go care for the screaming babies and to lavish affection on the others.

Following her example like baby chicks to the hen, the others her age managed to escape and would follow her in a cluster of bodies. The caretakers constantly would try to return us to the cribs, but the babies would crawl out again. This cycle repeated until the toddlers were all mini monkeys, including Varushka. Varushka pulled out the ripped cushions of the cribs of the toddlers until she formed a large bedding area where they could all sleep.

Varushka hoped this would help. She couldn't stand the caretakers cruel neglect and the lifeless eyes of children with no purpose. So she gathered them together, going into all of the rooms in the building and gently coaxing them to follow her with her songs. Then she led them to her original room on the pile cushions and would sing softly in English and the limited Russian she knew from listening to the caretakers gossip as she would comb the toddler's hair and rock one of the babies.

From her limited Russian, she learned that this building was a baby home and that they would move the children to the main orphanage whenever a toddler turned five. Varushka thought it was a stupid system. The older kids could help care for the kids and would provide the interactions needed, but without them the children would be raised in negligence.

So when her time came, at age five, she refused and threw the world's worst tantrum on purpose. Once the other toddlers realized that they were trying to take her away, they joined in until the entire building was in an uproar.

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**_Heh, Varushka isn't one to stand by – especially when it concerns babies. There are cases around the world where some orphanages are like this, just so you know I'm not completely faking everything. It's sad just reading about those articles, so I decided that Varushka wasn't going to let it keep happening._**

**_Anyways, hoped you enjoyed and please tell me what you think!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Varushka didn't intend to for them all to act like this when it came to her. She didn't major in psychology, she only died when she was fifteen, after all. She never even took that sort of class, so she had no real clue what drove people to do some things, but she could tell that they sort of _imprinted_ her in their minds. She honestly didn't want this to happen. For them to treat her like she is the only ray of light in a world living underground in a void of darkness.

But it happened and she couldn't try to reverse it without huge consequences to their mental health or without the proper materials. You know, like a psychologist and actual adults who would love them as their own children.

Varushka could only help by singing and talking constantly. The ones older than her, who clung and went hysterical whenever the caretakers tried to make them "graduate" to the "big kids" homes, sort of acted instinctively like guard dogs. They sure growled and prowled like animals within reaching distance of her if the caretakers so much as looked at her. Those her age clutched at her rag clothes, each trying to jostle several others hovering around her to touch her.

Honestly, it made Varushka feel like some worshiped being. As a major introvert, the lack of privacy drove her a bit stir crazy, but she bore through it by zoning out most of the day away as she spoke random stories or things that came to mind. Perhaps her love for anime and reading was a blessing for this life, since she would recall everything from them as stories for the kids.

There was this horrible moment when Varushka walked into another room with infants only to find one of the caretakers abusing some of the kids. The rage in that moment scared her and her mind went fuzzy, only returning to find the woman on the floor unconscious with hand-print and fist-shaped burns. After that, the other caretakers took this as a warning and left the responsibilities to Varushka.

The abused kids in questions stared in fascination, clenching and unclenching their tiny fists and scrunching their faces like they were trying to make something happen. Varushka gently pried open their hands and proceeded to kiss their wounds and do the typical "no more pain" routine. That led, somewhat humorously, to them all mimicking her and kissing her every once and a while.

Varushka wasn't that surprised when the caretakers ended up leaving them completely alone, though that wasn't much of a difference from before, and only came by to drop off supplies and books for learning Russian. Some would say this was plot convenience or something, but honestly, the ratio of caretakers to kids was 1:15. That being said, they couldn't stop the hordes of kids no matter what they tried. They also weren't risking a repeat of what happened to that other caretaker. So Varushka just sighed deeply, straightened, and started to order the older kids to help her care for the infants and other toddlers.

It was like her personal army. No matter how odd the order, the kids would instantly respond without question. So she taught them to dance with her songs, smiling and clapping for positive reinforcement. This also gave them some physical activity, rather than just laying around with nothing to do except for staring at the small library of picture books that none of them, including Varushka, could actually read Russian.

Despite their mental and emotional progress, everything was not fine and dandy. Several of the children had imparities like Down Syndrome. They had to use supplies sparingly, so the children would go hungry once or twice every week. It was painful to do, but Varushka had to so that it would last. The children didn't protest, merely accepting her words faithfully.

One time, during late at night, Varushka snuck out of the orphanage to scout around the town. Mazanovsky district, considering if she read the sign correctly. She wondered, looking for anything useful. She even checked dumpsters and trash bins of the houses, checking if windows are locked. If not, Varushka had no moral or physical problem in hauling her six-year-old body through the window to raid the houses with a pillow case for a bag. You know, thief skills on par with Kaitou Jeanne or Joker.

When she returned, the orphanage was just as chaotic as it was when the caretakers tried to whisk her away to the "big kid" orphanage. They noticed her with abnormal unison and she only had time to toss the stuffed pillow bag to safety before being piled in bodies. They cried, blubbering a mix of Russian, Japanese, and English, soaking in her presence like they had died when they noticed she was gone.

Tears prickling herself, she apologized loud enough for the crowd of wailing kids to hear her and began singing them the Akai Tori lullaby in Japanese. That night, they ended up falling asleep on her right in front of the orphanage door, curled up to each other on the cold floor for warmth.

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**_Varushka is a natural manipulator in a good way. She knows, even without psychology classes and other training, how people tick from observing them in her past life. She knows what they need and after everything, is willing to get it by any means. Many kids do this automatically too, which is why some kids fake cry and throw tantrums to get their way. Kids are masters at seeing emotions._**


	5. Chapter 5

Admittedly, it took her a while to realize it. She didn't know even ten names of the children out of the total eighty-three kids here. Of course, ten were infants, eight-teen were toddlers ages 3-5, and the rest around her age group of 6-10. Sure, she generally got their attention by saying things like, "sweetheart", "honey", or even "sugah" or "sweet Pea" when her southern side from Before came back. But still, that was a weak excuse. And Varushka was not one for making excuses for herself.

Varushka mentally yelled at herself, stunned at her own lack of participation in these kids' individual lives. She had been too busy trying to make sure their needs are all met that she hadn't thought about their personalities, names, like or dislikes, and other things of that nature. She couldn't afford to unconsciously try to distance herself from them.

That was always a problem with her past life, she tended to want to be alone and any friends she made would eventually become acquaintances again. While any other teenagers would go out and hang with her friends, she was perfectly happy to stay at home. She couldn't, _wouldn't_, this time around. They needed her and she needed them. Her few close friends from Before had been her anchor to life and relationships, but she couldn't go back to that life. Instead, these children became her purpose and their smiles her determination to continue forward.

Her lip bled from biting it to harshly, causing one of the kids to whimper worriedly. Snapping out of her self-scolding, she pushed her anti-social, introverted self into _being_ what they needed. The small boy, one of the more familiar ones, one who always followed her and would wrap himself around her leg if she stood in place. Like usual, he was clinging to her side with his wild blond hair nearly obscuring his light blue eyes. The four-year-old had himself tucked against her leg, one hand curled around her knee and the other did its usually nervous tick in taping rhythmically against her calf.

Varushka spoke in Russian, "What's your name, sweetheart?" Like always, the orphan's attention locked in on her. He looked confused, breaking her heart even more. Of course, what was she thinking? It's not like the caretakers _knew_ their names either to call for their attention, of course they wouldn't know at this age. "Does anyone know their name?"

Some of the older ones reacted, raising their hand like she taught them when they wanted her attention. One boy, around nine like her, with dirty blond hair and brown eyes spoke first. "Iosif," he stated shortly, his name sounding vaguely like the Russian version of Joseph.

One of the girls then answered, "Annick." She seemed to be around seven, with long brown hair and eyes. In session, twenty-seven of the fifty-five who were 6 to 10 years old responded dutifully, which Varushka wrote down in Russian. The rest merely shook their heads or shrugged. So Varushka rummaged through the orphanage to find any of their files, but none were stored here. Varushka shrugged and named them herself, providing a list names in English, Russian, or the bit of Japanese she knew for them to choose.

She stole some threads to stich their names into their meager belongings, making sure to memorize every face and every name and to say their names often. A name would give them a sense of identity so that, perhaps, they would become more independent and _become_ someone rather than be just one of many orphans.

It would be proof of their existence in this cold world.


	6. Chapter 6

It was becoming suspicious. No, it was suspicious and quite obviously so.

Varushka carefully peeked outside the window, barely making the curtain ruffle, as she studied the men dressed in black in the alleyway. Their eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but she knew they were watching the orphanage. Once is coincidence and twice is just chance, but three times is purposeful.

This was the fifth time. No mistake. Only an idiot would be that oblivious.

Not to mention that they were decked out in the stereotypical mafia look. Black jackets, black or blue jeans, black hats, and sunglasses. At least they were mindful enough to not wear expensive suits out in this town. That would be stupid.

The mafia wasn't much of a leap to believe. Just thinking about it, Varushka was surprised they didn't show up sooner. An orphanage with no adult supervision other than occasional visits, a kid in charge who isn't even a decade old, and a group of orphans with little experience with the world. Ripe pickings. Easy targets. Whatever you want to call them.

Of course, all of that wasn't common knowledge. However, if one was observant enough to notice that the caretakers never stayed long and that the children were strangely fine on their own – and adding the fact that there are reports of break-in's and thief's being the culprit of small figures (again, obvious, but the police couldn't prove anything) – it was only a matter of time.

Varushka could guess why more were showing up recently. They were expecting the kids to be desperate; both for physical and mental care. Easy to mold, easy to use, easy to discard. No one to stop them.

Hell no.

Varushka didn't think so. She wasn't stupid enough to antagonize an unknown mafia group up front, but in secret was another matter. So, she sabotaged them, stealing their things when they go on patrol, cutting their tires, etc. The other children picked up on her suspicious and careful behavior, copying and learning from her. She kept them close so that the men couldn't run off with any of them, though it wasn't much of a problem seeing how the orphans rarely left her side either way.

When she did separate from them, she left the older kids in charge and blocked the doorways and windows. She even gathered sticks and parts of falling apart houses to barricade the first-floor windows. Of course, this didn't stop them. If anything, it annoyed them. Either way, they blamed the others living nearby the "scene of the crime" because kids _obviously_ wouldn't have any weapon to do so.

Still, they took it to the next level to get us more desperate for a savior. How _nice_ of them. Whoever the leader is must believe that the sun comes up just to hear him crow.

They cut off our supplies. Those cowardly caretakers took on a whole new level of neglect and just vanished off the face of the planet. Well, that or died. Perhaps the mafia didn't care either way; threaten them or kill off those who hesitated to agree. Some stupidly violent thing like that.

Varushka gritted her teeth, scowling and just barely refraining from growling like a dog. _Not in front of the children_, she mentally chanted. The four-year-old, now named Alexios because he liked that it meant defender in Russian, was wrapped around her leg and seemed upset because she was. Iosif, Annick, and the other oldest of the orphans corralled the younger kids around Varushka like sheep to offer comfort in a pile of bodies.

Signing and mentally forcing away her rage, Varushka planned. There was no way she was involving them in the mafia, especially a group that had no problem with letting children suffer so that they can have perfectly molded puppets in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

Varushka patiently sat in front of the large group of children, slowly signing with her hands to make words and phrases. Out of all the kids in the orphanage, there were six children who are mute or deaf in the orphanage and three others who had a mental disability that caused speech problems. However, that didn't make them less human, so Varushka taught them how to communicate in another way. She also taught it to the rest, so that they can all connect to each other.

Hand signs. Body movement. Facial expressions.

It was slow going, but fun. The children soaked up her made-up hand signs and expressions. They moved how she moved, calm and careful. When needed, sneakily. Other times, blending in with regular childish behavior by moving erratically and hyperactively with big grins.

Though the children treated her "pretending" exercises as a game, she saw how happy it made them when they could pretend to be whoever they wanted. Princes, princesses, knights, thieves (though that was true, really), doctors, and so on.

Eventually, they weren't so desperately concentrated on her anymore. While they still refused to be apart for long, they didn't have to keep physical contact with her any longer. They were happy as long as she was in the same room, where they could see her and hear her voice.

She stole mattresses to make better beds for them all, stole blankets to keep them warm from the cold Russian air, stole art and sewing supplies to make them dolls or other toys. As it turns out, Janna, an eight-year-old who is deaf, loved to sew. She had the skill Varushka never quite got, easily advancing in skill until Varushka had nothing else to teach and learned beyond by experimenting. Jenna was a sweet little girl. All smiles and will giggles at anything even slightly funny. She had beautiful light blond hair that Varushka would braid for her and grey-blue eyes that would sometimes glaze in innocent daydreams.

Michael, a ten-year-old like Varushka, a mute boy, moved quieter than a panther. Black hair and brown eyes, with a rather beautiful light bronze skin tone, Michael was a perfect ninja when it comes to stealth. Though he gets quite a few looks because of his adorableness, it helps blend him in as a well-off child. Where Varushka was good at picking locks and getting into houses, Michael knew the best houses to hit, where all the shortcuts in town were and what schedules the neighbors followed.

Varushka was worried for all her children, but Michael often reported that the mafia are showing up where she sends him out. Michael was being followed back to the orphanage each time too.

Stopping her signing lesson, Varushka ushered Michael up to her and pulled her into his arms. Without a pause, he laid his head on her shoulder and let her rock him as she sung to her children.

The mafia is watching, waiting. Suspicious of the coordinated actions made by mere children.

But Varushka was watching them. And she was no mere child.

However, Varushka is only ten. Not the fifteen she was Before. Mentally twenty-five now. Even if Varuska was, perhaps, ten years older and knew how to fight effectively, she couldn't confront the mafia men.

Why? Because she had a group of eighty-three kids depending on her for survival. As much as she would like to attack them, getting involved with the mafia when you had no power – political, physical, or otherwise – was downright suicidal.

However, leaving the country was impossible as a group of children. Not without some outside help, which Varushka doesn't have.

Wait.

Or does she?

From her spot in the middle of children, she spied the mafia men standing outside and grinned. They had no transport, no money, nothing to help them escape. But the mafia men had weapons, illegal trafficking, money, and plenty of stupid grunts. Would this work? Unlikely. But could they escape otherwise? Impossible.

The only way out was to go straight for the heart of the very men trying to kidnap them in the first place. And that's exactly what Varushka will do.


	8. Chapter 8

Varushka told them plans, signing as she went with her hands. The group watched with, to an outsider, unnerving focus. But Varushka was their leader, mother, and sibling all in one. She watched most of these children grow, learn, and taught them to survive. Varushka had managed this all in such horrible conditions because she already had prior experience and was determined to help. But she wanted them out of such conditions, where they had a comfortable life. Perhaps a bit dull, but without the fear of getting caught stealing or the thought of starving or isolation.

She wanted to build them the world where they could escape and be free to decide what they wanted to do or be.

So Varushka started the plans off small, sending out more children on supply runs and telling them to be a bit messier. Make it seem as if they were getting desperate and were making mistakes. Leaving behind tracks that the police wouldn't notice, but that the mafia would, showing the vulnerability they were waiting for.

The desperation wasn't a complete hoax, as supplies were running dangerously low without the monthly drop off supplies that the orphanage manager would leave, but Varushka was the only one truly feeling the desperation. The other children were used to her providing for them, used to her always having a plan, used to rationing food. The orphans thoughts were simple, Varushka will do something.

They had no trouble believing in her, obeying her orders, and following the plan like it was just another day. Varushka had saved them multiple times from being caught by the police, so they thought it would be no different now for her to get rid of these men. They were naive, but Varushka saw their undying trust and unwavering will. Varushka likened this to how children thought their parents were immortal and the stronger than any other person.

Rather than insisting on all the orphans having baths every night to keep clean, Varushka purposely made baths a rare occurrence to conserve water and give the children a dirtier appearance. She gave the children clothes too big for them, though they seemed to find it funny how far the clothes could stretch, messed up their hair, and made them get into fake family fights.

All bait for the mafia.

It worked. The mafia men took the opportunity, barging in late at night and waving guns in their faces. The orphans, having never seen a gun, hardly blinked and followed behind Varushka with their well-practiced expressions and mannerisms of fear. Varushka mentally noted that she should tell them the dangers of such weapons because a healthy fear is what keeps them from being reckless.

Only, Varushka wasn't a genius, despite her adaptability and preparation. Something was bound to go wrong and it only took a simple, dismissive order from the leader to snap Verushka's calm.

"Kill the disabled ones, they won't be of any use." Varushka's mind instant fell into tunnel vision, seeing only the threat and the danger they posed to her family. She thought nothing of the consequences after those words were spoken and wouldn't have cared if she did.

The henchman turned and aimed his gun at Misaki, an eight-year-old with Spina bifida, a physical disability that required her to use a wheelchair. Misaki's eyes widened in alarm, crying out in surprise.

Because these were _her_ children, _her_ responsibility, _her_ family. Before Varushka's eyes, flames erupted from her skin, soon to be followed by an array of other colored flames. Around her, the children lit up on fire of all colors, suddenly aware of the danger and the threat to their siblings, their expressions furious and their yells were lost in the rush of the fire. Like an explosion of the rainbow, the room was lit brighter than it had ever been before. The tide wave of fire did not clash or mix. It rolled harmoniously together like Von Goh's night sky and incinerating the men without any time for them to even scream.

**00000000000**

**Whoops. I didn't realize how misleading the ending was. Sorry about that, the other flames belonged to the other children, not Varushka. Thanks for pointing it out. I have no intention of Varushka being** **mary-sue, since I try to make my characters as realistic as possible (unless the anime is humor-based and defies the laws of physics itself). **

**Either way, sorry for the late update. College applications and scholarships got in the way. I also got in a car crash and totaled my car, but I'm fine because I had an awesome Subaru car.**


	9. Chapter 9

Varushka woke abruptly, automatically searching the room with sharp moss-colored eyes as she tried to mentally pry open her long-term memory storage and find out what the _hell_ just happened.

No, fire does not come out of people without burning them along with the mafia men. It especially does not come out in purple, pure yellow, green or water-like blue. But no, trust her to completely defy logic and physics, not that she knew anything of physics. But the fire had come and burned the men to ashes, right along her lousy plans.

Now that Varushka played the pretending game, where she was the mafia men, she understood why her plans failed. Varushka treasured these children, hardly even noticing the disabilities unless it was to help them because they were still family. But the mafia men did not come here to love and sing them to sleep, they came to kidnap and use the children for their own purposes.

Shivering at what her children might have been forced to do or become, Varushka pulled herself back onto her feet to check on her children. Several of the children were wide awake, still in a state of shock – _awe_? – but would nod and respond to her worried questions as she combed her hands through their hair and checked their vital signs like she had learned in a book one of the caretakers had left before Varushka took over.

A few, numbering thirteen of the total eighty-three, where unconscious like she was. Around them showed the obvious signs of fire damage, soot and ash on the floor and their clothes burned. Varushka made sure they were all breathing and uninjured before corralling the group into the main bedroom. Varushka made them gather the weapons the men had brought, though she made it clear not to touch the sharp blades or the trigger of the guns.

Had they been any other children who were raised sheltered and protected, Varushka would expect at least a few to disobey because of curiosity or recklessness and cause an accident. However, her children dutifully followed directions, unintentionally trained by the thievery through the years, and searched the room of ashes like it was another game of hide and seek.

Except they were seeking weapons that no other children would be around at that age.

Three of the fifteen mafia men who had attacked were still alive, two looking worse the wear with signs of electrocution and one mostly fine but his heart rate was very slow. Weird, just like Varushka's life recently. Looking down at the three men, haphazardly thrown on top of each other thanks to Michael and Iosif's help, she tied their hands and feet together with some wire.

With her children, safe and all awake now, she grabbed a handgun from the pile and fiddled with it until it opened to show a full round in the magazine. Snapping it back into the handgun, Varushka gripped the handle and pointed it at the men, turning the safety lever off with a flick of her thumb. Gesturing with a jerk of her chin, Michael happily pored the bucket of water he got from a nearby frozen pond onto the heap of men.

The two electrocuted men stayed unconscious, possibly in a coma, but the third sputtered awake and opened his eyes to face the barrel of the gun. He froze, imitating a deer in the headlights, before his expression relaxed in relief when he noticed it was only a kid holding the gun. Mentally rolling her eyes, though Varushka thought he had plenty to be afraid of – considering that a gun in the hands of a ten-year-old was usually a cause of disaster – but didn't move from her steady stance.

Misaki was clapping happily, making the scene rather comical rather than the threatening vibe Varushka was going for, but she was obliviously adorable as usual. Misaki identified anyone outside their family dangerous, having been carelessly treated and neglected by the previous caretakers, so she identified adults as evil. Varushka had taught them that every person was capable of evil, given certain circumstances, but Misaki (much like the others) seemed to believe that Varushka was their knight in shining armor.

"Don't move," Varushka started, smile in place as the children cheered her on. Oh, they weren't as ignorant as Varushka sometimes thought. They had seen other children succumb to illness, cold, starvation. They knew death, but they also knew that Varushka was protecting them now.

They were quick to understand how dangerous those weapons were and what could have happened to them, but they had little compassion for outsiders. Even Jenna, the gentle, loving, easy going little girl watched calmly with piercing, aware eyes.

Yes, death they knew well. Pain they knew well. But Varushka was theirs, trusted and beloved as they were to her and they knew no fear when she was around.

"You move, I shoot." Varushka's Russian accent was thick, expertly hiding any other accent from her previous life. "You mafia men are easier to trick than I thought. Now, it would be fun to tell you all of my plans and how I did everything like every melodramatic super villain on TV, but I'm not the villain in this case. You are. Now I can be the hero, who believes that you can find redemption and gives you another chance." Varushka _almost_ felt bad at the relief and growing confidence she saw in the man's features. "But I'm not a hero. I'm a little girl whose family you had threatened and, unfortunately for you, knows how to use a gun." Mostly. TV was a great teacher.

"This is ridiculous-"

"Your face is ridiculous. Really, those mustache and muscles. Are you trying to be Major Armstrong?" The children laughed, whispering, and agreeing in the background, which only made the mortified flush on the man's face deepen. Rolling her eyes so he could see her, Varushka smiled once more. "Now, since you were so cruel to try and kidnap us, it is only right that you do us a favor in return." She pressed the cold barrel to his forehead, only slightly concerned at her own apathy for this man. "Smuggle us out of the country. You try to trick us, these bullets will go into your knees, then your elbows, and your stomach. It's not a hard deal, get us on a plane or boat to another country, then you will be scot free."

"My leader will kill me! Like I would help a bunch of useless-" Michael took the tightening of Varushka's jaw as a sign to stop him, driving his elbow into the man's throat without even hesitating. Varushka nodded her thanks and ignored the choked noise coming from the man.

"You continue to show your stupidity. I believe you have reported to your boss that some of us were worth the trouble? Well, it is easy to believe that you were forced to kill us because we protected each other when you tried to kill those who are disabled. A few accidental shots there, and insanity from neglect and desperation proved us to be unsalvable."

Varushka made a point to _carelessly_, confidently, wave the gun around, "Now," She stated with a malevolent smile, "What is your decision?" Purposely, she made eye contact and clearly showed her willing intent to fire at him if he disagreed.

Behind this mask, Varushka wondered just how much she had changed from the girl she used to be and if it even mattered at all. In the end, that girl was dead and Varushka was alive and protecting those dear to her.


End file.
